


When I Was a Young Boy

by ArthurianScribe



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Accidental Bonding, Acts of Kindness, Baby Bruce Wayne, Bruce Wayne is Not Batman, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Feels, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen, Gotham City is Terrible, Hurt/Comfort, Kid Bruce Wayne, Kid Fic, Martha Wayne/Thomas Wayne - Freeform, No beta we die like mne, Sad Ending, Song: Welcome to the Black Parade, The Author Regrets Nothing, Title from a My Chemical Romance Song, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, We love and respect Bruce Wayne's parents, i bet you can guess who it is, implied PTSD, mature for adult themes and violence, no beta we die like robins, none of whom are in this fic, not till the end though, not yet at least, that is the best tag ever, the author can't write action
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:34:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25831411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArthurianScribe/pseuds/ArthurianScribe
Summary: Bruce Wayne was never going to be a “normal” child under even the best of circumstances. But Thomas and Martha were bound and determined that he would grow up to be a good man. It was just a shame that they wouldn’t live to see it.Or, Bruce Wayne’s parents' deaths may have inspired him to put on the Batman suit, but their life was what shaped into a man worthy enough to wear it.
Relationships: Alfred Pennyworth & Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth & Martha Wayne & Thomas Wayne, Bruce Wayne & Martha Wayne & Thomas Wayne
Comments: 6
Kudos: 29





	When I Was a Young Boy

**Author's Note:**

> Bruce Wayne (when written at his best) is a fascinatingly complex character, but my favorite thing about him has to be how much he loves people, even after repeatedly seeing and experiencing the worst that humanity has to offer, he refuses to give up on the people of Gotham. So, I wanted to write about Bruce Wayne before batman was born in that alley, to see how the foundations for the hero might have been laid even before the Wayne murders.

If you were to ask the average Gothamite what Bruce Wayne was like as a baby, they would tell you that Gotham’s “white knight” was probably a very happy, very sociable kid. After all, someone who was that friendly and philanthropic while living in Gotham of all places, must come by it naturally.

If you asked any member of the Justice League who was trusted enough to know the Batman’s identity (and, therefore, was likely among the man’s closest friends) what Bruce Wayne was like as a baby, they would insist that he had to have been one of those quiet, calm children that always strike an embarrassing amount of envy in the parents of especially colicky newborns. 

Alfred Pennyworth, if pressed for a response, would reluctantly tell you that both parties were completely correct on all accounts. 

-0

[ApApAp]

-0

“What do you think, Alfred? Thomas insists he looks just like him, but that is a Kane nose right there if I’ve ever seen one” Martha asked as she helped adjust said babe in Alfred’s arms so that his head was better supported. 

Alfred considered the newborn. He had never actually held an infant before, and it felt incredibly wrong for hands that had caused so much damage back in his army days to be cradling such a fragile being. 

Alfred had long known that parenthood was not in the cards for him, but he was suddenly so, so grateful that it was for his friends. If there were any two people on this planet who would make truly good parents, it was these two, of that Alfred was sure. These people who had taken one look at the damaged soldier called to them at the request of a dying man and decided that they would be the family this man so obviously needed, no matter how much he protested along the way. 

Surely if anyone would be a good father it was this man, this man who sat up till three am in front of the fire with an employee he hadn’t even known a month, just rambling about the latest medical journal article he had read to let his companion ignore just how much he really did not want to sleep. 

Surely if anyone would make a good mother it was this woman, this woman who insisted that Alfred sit down to tea with her in the garden every morning, asking his advice on her plans for each of her charity project because she wanted him to know that he and his opinion were valuable to her at a time when he wondered whether his life meant anything at all.

Yes, Thomas and Martha were capable of loving a child far better than someone of Alfred’s background. But, Alfred thought as baby Bruce’s face scrunched into startled confusion after he gagged himself on his own tiny fist, this is Gotham, and it never hurts to have extra protection in Gotham. If Alfred’s army years were going to be good for anything, it would be for protecting those around him. Yes, in that moment, staring into a pair of blue eyes that seemed to peer into Alfred’s very soul, Alfred promised himself that he would protect this child with his life. Whatever it took.

But he had been asked a question, hadn’t he.

“If I had to wager a guess, madam, I would say he looks more like the entry hall portrait of Master Thomas’s great-great-uncle than anything.”

He could see the moment Martha recalled the portrait he was referencing, a portrait that had been painted when its subject was about ninety years old. Her eyes narrowed to a dangerous squint.

“Alfred, are you saying my baby looks like an old man” she asked in a dangerous tone.

Alfred looked up at her and was just beginning to wonder if he had somehow crossed a line he didn’t know existed when a mischievous smile broke through Martha’s attempt at maintaining a faux-stern expression. Alfred couldn’t help but match it with one of his own.

-0

[TwTwTw]

-0

If someone had come to Thomas on the day of his wedding and told him that that was not the happiest day of his life, he would have argued with them. That changed the day his son was born. 

He had devolved into downright panic when Martha’s water broke and had been subjected to both Alfred’s sarcastic quips and Martha’s cheerful giggles the whole way to the hospital. He supposed it was ironic that the trauma surgeon who regularly faced the worst Gothamites could inflict on one another was left hysterical by something as natural as childbirth, but it was different. The operating room was his domain. He had control of what happened there for better or ill, but there was no personal stake their outside of its reflection on him professionally. 

Here, however, he had no control. He was no obstetrician, and he was well aware of how many things could go wrong in childbirth. Thomas struggled to relinquish control at the best of times (something that made Leslie despair every time she was unfortunate enough to find him as a patient) and with two lives he valued even more than his own hanging in the balance… well, let’s just say that he was grateful for the easy familiarity of Martha and Alfred’s teasing keeping him grounded to the moment.

Now, six months later, the memory of that day feels more like a dream. It feels strange to think there was ever a time when his world didn’t revolve around this wonderful child who was an amalgamation of Thomas and Martha and something that was entirely Bruce. Now, he could think of nothing better to do on a Saturday morning than to spend time with his infant son. 

“Where to now, chum?” he asked as Bruce looked up from the leaf he had been examining. The infant lifted his hand to point insistently at another tree a little further down the walking trail through the manor’s grounds. Thomas followed the chubby little finger until Bruce stopped pointing in favor of touching this new tree’s leaves and bark, exactly as he had been for the last hour and a half. But that was fine. Thomas would take his son to every single tree in Gotham if he wanted him to, especially if it meant he got to keep watching the sheer wonder all over his little face. Thomas knew babies grew too fast, so he intended to enjoy every second of it. 

-0

[MwMwMw]

-0

Martha smiled down at Bruce from her seat on the sitting room loveseat as he pulled himself into a standing position and grabbed onto his mother’s legs.

“C’mere, little one” she crooned, pulling him up into her lap. “Can you say ‘mama’ for me? ‘Mah-mah.’” 

Their efforts to get Bruce to say anything had picked up a new urgency after his first birthday had come and gone several months ago with Bruce still not having said his first words. 

Bruce did not say ‘mama,’ but he did match Martha’s smile and throw his head into her chest as though asking for a hug, so she considered that enough of a win.

“Does someone want a hug from his Mama?” Bruce squealed in response. “Oh, is that how it is, mister?” Martha grinned. Words weren’t the only way to make sure her baby knew he was loved. “Well, if you don’t want a hug from Mama, then I guess you’ll get a visit from the tickle monster!” And with that she started a furious tickling campaign that left her baby boy laughing louder and longer than she’d ever heard before, and Martha was laughing right along with him. 

When the moment finally faded away, Martha tightened her grip almost imperceptibly, and Bruce snuggled deeper into her neck in response. 

“Well, aren’t the two of you a pair,” Alfred said from behind her. 

“Alfie!” Martha exclaimed. “How long have you been standing there?”

Alfred pushed the tea cart he had brought over to the side table beside the couch and started pouring Martha a cup of green tea. “Long enough, ma’am. Shall I take the young master while you have your tea?” 

“That would be lovely, my friend,” she said, reaching to pass her child over. “As long,” she continued, “as you don’t take him too far.” Martha picked up her cup and saucer as Alfred settled down in the armchair across from her, Bruce cradled in his lap and quickly falling into a contented sleep.

So they just sat there, in silence, watching as Bruce’s little breaths gradually deepened and evened out. Eventually, Martha rested the empty cup and its saucer on her lap. Loathe to break the true serenity of the quiet moment, she spoke just above a whisper. “We’ve got a good one here, Alfie. I can tell we’re going to be so proud of the man he becomes.”

Alfred didn’t respond right away, pausing to brush a tuft of fine black hair out of the child’s face. “I would accuse you of being a bit biased, but something tells me you’re completely correct in this case. I have complete faith that this child will do great things, no matter how clichéd that sounds.”

**Author's Note:**

> Currently this fic should have four chapters. They’re planned out, but I’m not going to hold myself to a specific schedule with school starting up again next week.   
> Sorry I gave Alfred PTSD but also I’m not sorry. I needed a reason for the Waynes and Alfred to bond enough that they’d be willing to make him, specifically, their child’s legal guardian. I know this may not feel in character for the Alfred we know and love, but that Alfred is several decades older. A lot can change in twenty plus years. Plus, PTSD among veterans is a really important issue, that means a lot to me personally, so if I can humanize it for someone than I’ll take the opportunity.   
> Also, there is a reason that Bruce missed a certain milestone based on a personal head-canon of mine. More on that in later chapters.  
> For those waiting for a Bora Bora update, I promise its coming, I’m just having a little trouble working out the beginning of the next chapter which refuses to write itself the way its middle and end did.  
> Work and Chapter Titles from Welcome to the Black Parade


End file.
